


For the Cause

by NixBlaque



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixBlaque/pseuds/NixBlaque
Summary: (Pre-Series). It should have been a simple black dog hunt... it wasn't."One moment the sixteen-year-old was crouched a few feet from their father, digging through his pack for his water bottle, and the next he was tumbling over the edge of the ravine that bordered one side of the clearing, limbs tangled with the slick black fur of the creature. It wasn’t until the two of them disappeared from view that Dean registered what had just happened:  Sam had seen the dog coming, and somehow launched at himself at it just in time to stop its teeth tearing out his father’s throat. And then they'd fallen."
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**part one**

“Hey, Sam, you hanging in there kid?”

Dean glanced up at his father’s words, and Sam’s hand twitched in a vague impression of a thumbs up. Dean tightened his grip on the teenager as his breath hitched, tendons in his neck standing out as he arched his back in agony. The older boy’s hand slipped from its position on the side of the kid’s head to his neck, and he grimaced.

“Dad…” He muttered quietly, feeling the younger boy trembling in his arms. He was eerily pale, skin almost translucent, and blood had soaked through the towels wrapped around his leg. Recalling the sickening sight of snapped bone peeking up through torn skin, Dean knew better than to try and shift the blood-soaked fabric in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the wound, but the heat that he could feel radiating from the slim form of his brother suggested that infection might already be settling in.

The car lurched forwards, the engine roaring slightly as the Impala surged forwards. Dean didn’t have to ask to know that his father’s foot was pressed to the floor, pushing the Impala to her limits in an attempt to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

Sam shifted slightly, a weak groan drifting out from between pale lips, but a glance at the sixteen-year-old’s face was more than enough proof that the kid was still just as incoherent as he had been from the moment that they’d first managed to rouse him.

His pulse was thready and weak, body trembling against Dean’s, and it was all the young hunter could do to press his forehead to his brother’s head and do his best to reassure him. The hospital was still twenty minutes away.

Dean hoped desperately that Sam had that long left in him.

***

_“So what are we thinking?” Dean asked, leaning over his father’s shoulder to try and get a better look at the pages of notes sprawled across the surface of the rickety motel table. “Black dog? It’s an awful lot of kills for one of them.”_

_John made a vague noise that Dean interpreted to mean that he was just as puzzled._

_“What if it wasn’t just one of them?” Sam offered from the other side of the table. His maths homework was open in front of him, calculus textbook neatly underlined and highlighted in places, but his concentration was locked on the characteristic messy scrawl of his father’s notes. “I mean, they must reproduce somehow. What if it’s a breeding pair? Maybe with pups? If they’re hunting together, it could explain the amount of cows they’ve taken down, and maybe even why they’ve started taking out hikers.”_

_Dean felt his eyebrows raise at the suggestion, turning his questioning look on his father._

_“It’s possible,” The older man frowned. “But I highly doubt it. There’s never been another case of anything like this… it’s more likely to be a large male specimen. If he’s above the average size, he’s going to need more than the average amount of food.”_

_Dean glanced at his brother in time to see Sam’s knuckles tighten around his pen at the blatant dismissal, but rather than pick a fight, the teenager wordlessly turned back to his homework. The slump of his shoulders screamed defeat._

_Dean couldn’t hold back a sigh._

***

“Easy, Sammy,” Dean muttered softly, running a hand through the teenager’s hair. Sam was shifting slightly against his brother’s chest, and the older man knew that each movement must have been sending waves of agony through his leg. The familiar feel of a fever was bleeding through the kid’s shirt and his skin was dry and hot to the touch. Dean knew that definitely wasn’t a good thing. “Just a few more minutes, alright? Then the doctors will dose you up with the good stuff.”

He glanced at the front seat, the sharp cut of his father’s jaw illuminated by the streetlights.

“Five minutes,” His father offered without glancing back at them. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, just like Sam’s had been around his pen only a few hours before. “Maybe six.”

Sam’s movements slowed to a stop, the kid’s weight against Dean’s chest growing just that little bit heavier, and the twenty-year-old’s eyes immediately flew to his brother’s face. His chest was visibly heaving with every rasping breath that he drew in, and his face was completely slack.

“Sam.” Dean called, lightly slapping the kid’s face. “Sammy, hey! Open your eyes, kid.”

“Dean?”

The young man couldn’t keep the fear from his voice. “He’s out, Dad… and I’m pretty sure his leg’s still bleeding.”

John swore quietly, slamming a hand off the steering wheel as he flew through a red light, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony of blaring horns that followed in the wake of the Impala’s sleek form. Dean didn’t know if it was Sam’s worrying stillness or the fear he could glimpse in his father’s face that had his hands shaking against his brother’s throat.

“Come on, Sam,” He whispered to his brother. “Just a little bit longer.”

***

_Their father had been right. The black dog was bigger than Dean could possibly have anticipated, standing easily over a head taller than the biggest one he’d ever seen previously. It charged from the brush with a ferocious intensity, eyes glinting red in the faint light of the moon, and almost instantly the night was alive with the sound of gunshots._

_For a moment, the creature didn’t seem to slow, and Dean was just starting to wonder whether they were faced with some kind of mutant black dog with bullet-proof skin when the animal’s brain seemed to catch up with its body and it toppled to the ground with a thud.  
For a moment the clearing was eerily silent, and then John dropped his gun to his side with a grin of triumph, giving the carcass a swift kick in the side as he reached for his lighter fluid._

_It was then, and only then, that Dean came to the sudden realisation that Sam had been right, too – because the carcass at their father’s feet was definitely dead, but the creature lunging for the man’s throat was smaller and slimmer and had the same distinctive black coat and red eyes. In the moment where he should have raised his gun and fired, taken the shot to the flank that the animal had unwittingly presented him with, Dean’s brain instead struggled to process just how badly they’d messed up._

_He never even saw Sam move._

_One moment the sixteen-year-old was crouched a few feet from their father, digging through his pack for his water bottle, and the next he was tumbling over the edge of the ravine that bordered one side of the clearing, limbs tangled with the slick black fur of the creature. It wasn’t until the two of them disappeared from view that Dean registered what had just happened – Sam had seen the dog coming, and somehow launched at himself at it just in time to stop its teeth tearing out his father’s throat._

_And then they’d fallen._

***

The Impala screeched to a stop with an ear-ringing squeal of breaks, haphazardly parked diagonally across two bays that were standing directly opposite the ER doors. Dean twisted his body, gathering Sam into his arms even as their father yanked the door open and reached for him. It was a testament to how screwed up their lives were that they made the transfer without banging the either kid’s leg or head off the back of the seat or the door frame, and seconds later they were storming through the automatic doors.

The room fell silent at their harried arrival, two nurses leaning against the reception pausing mid-discussion with the man perched in front of the computer, jaws dropping open in a way that might have been comedic in any other situation. In the plastic chairs around the room, other patients watched with apparent interest and surprise.

“Hey!” John snapped. “You think you could give me a hand instead of gawking?”

His attitude seemed to startle the nurses into action and one of them ran for help even as the other jogged forwards, eyes scanning Sam’s prone form and cataloguing the blood-stained towels wrapped around the middle of his leg.

“What happened?” She demanded, pressing the back of her hand to the kid’s face and manoeuvring her stethoscope underneath the kid’s shirt. If the look on her face was any indication, she wasn’t pleased by what she heard.

“Hunting accident,” Their father retorted, voice sharp with fear. “He, uh… he tripped. Fell over the edge of a ravine… he’s messed his leg up pretty bad. We could see bone.”

A doctor nudged the young woman aside, hand automatically reaching out to brace the foot of Sam’s injured leg as John lay him on the soft surface.

“How long ago?” The doctor demanded. “Any medical allergies?”

“No, no allergies. And, uh… about two hours. About ten PM, so two and a half.”

The blonde-haired woman nodded, muttering something to the two people with her too fast for Dean to catch what she was saying. They started wheeling Sam away, and Dean stepped forward instinctively, but the nurse had an arm across his chest and she started talking softly, nudging him towards the small waiting area.

“You can’t go with him,” She repeated firmly. “And I don’t want to have to call security. Sit down and they’ll call you as soon as they know something, okay?”

It wasn’t okay. It was nowhere near okay, but Dean found himself sitting anyway.

Above the nurses station, the clock ticked away the seconds mockingly.

***

_“Sam!” Dean yelled, scrambling blindly over the edge of the ravine, eyes frantically searching for his brother. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of his father’s heavy boots hitting the rocky edge, following him onto the steep slope. His hand was clenched tightly around his flashlight, though he had no memory of grabbing it from his pack, and he swung the beam wildly, heart leaping into his throat as he caught sight of slick black fur._

_He veered left, towards the animal, and it wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he took in the knife embedded deep into the creature’s chest and the sickening flash of pale skin just a few feet further down, resting in the small ditch-like crevice at the bottom of the slope._

_“Sam!” Dean stumbled for purchase under his feet, blindly leaping over the black dog’s carcass as he closed the gap between himself and his brother. “Dad! He’s over here!”_

_His feet hit the soft mud next to his brother and he skidded, falling to his knees with a faint splash. Sam’s face was pale, eyes closed and face smeared with blood and dirt – Dean’s head sought out a wound, relieved to find a shallow cut just above the younger man’s temple rather than the gaping gash he’d half expected to see, and it was only then that he turned his attention to the rest of the young man’s body._

_The assessment had him gagging weakly, swallowing hard against the urge to lose his lunch at the sight of torn skin and bone. The younger man’s jeans were torn beyond any hope of saving, revealing the distorted angle of the limb underneath – there was no doubt that the leg was broken, but it was the position of the break that had Dean’s head spinning dizzily, because it was his brother’s knee._

_John dropped next to him, shoving him hard in the shoulder._

_“Keep your eyes on his face,” He barked, having apparently picked up on just how close Dean was to giving into the urge to throw up in the dirt. “Try and wake him up. We want him conscious, Dean – this is a bad break, and we still have to get him out of here. You keep him awake, and I’ll worry about the leg, okay?”_

_Dean nodded dazedly, obediently hunching over the younger man’s head and smacking his face as lightly as he dared._

_“Sam!” He called. “Sammy, come on, you’ve gotta open those eyes for me, Kiddo. Please, Sammy, just open those eyes.”_

***

It was an hour and a half after they’d arrived at the hospital that a nurse handed them a pair of scrubs and a plastic bag each and pointed them towards a bathroom. Dean stripped mechanically, shoving his clothes into the bag without daring to look at them – he’d burn them the first chance that he got, and he couldn’t even muster relief at the realisation that he’d left his leather jacket safely inside of the motel room.

He washed his hands and face clinically and quickly, barely glancing into the mirror to check that his face was free of blood and grime before shrugging the on scrubs and heading back into the waiting room. The other people dotted around watched his return with interest, a few of them shooting him sympathetic smiles. He didn’t have the energy to return them, simply dropped the bag of blood-stained clothes on the floor and sank into the seat next to his father.

It was another four hours before the nurse returned and headed in their direction, and John and Dean rose to greet her.

“How is he?” John demanded, voice gruff with disuse.

The nurse smiled softly. “He’s doing okay, all things considered. He had two breaks in his lower leg, plus the one in his knee that required surgery. He lost a lot of blood before you got him in, which is a huge concern at this point, but we’re fairly confident that we’ve caught the infection before it could fully set in. He’ll be on antibiotics for a couple of weeks, but it shouldn’t take long for it to clear up.”

Dean nodded, and hesitated before opening his mouth. “So he’s going to be okay? And his leg… it’ll be good as new?”

“We’re pretty optimistic about his recovery,” The nurse smiled. “The leg’s going to need a lot of physical therapy, and it’ll probably take a few months for him to regain full use of it, but if he responds well to therapy there’s no reason that he can’t make a full recovery. He’ll just have a habit of setting off metal detectors from here on out.”

Dean felt sick with relief.

***

Sam looked small and pale.

His injured leg had been casted from thigh to foot and propped up on a pillow underneath the thin hospital blanket that the teenager had been covered with, and there was a thin square of gauze over the cut on his temple. The nurse had informed them that aside from his leg and his head, the only other injuries that Sam had sustained were grazes on his palms from trying to catch his fall and some nasty bruises along the side of his right arm.

Dean didn’t envy him that – it’d sure make using crutches uncomfortable as hell when he was recovered enough to be on his feet.  
They’d been warned that Sam would likely still be sleeping off the sedation, and already Dean could see the tell-tale signs of his brother starting to wake up – the familiar scrunching of his brow and wrinkling of his nose, and for the first time since the second black dog had made itself known, Dean finally allowed himself to smile.

Finally, nearly nine hours after Dean had first laid eyes on Sam lying still and pale in the mud, the teenager’s eyes opened and locked on his brother’s face with a level of comprehension. Next to him, Dean caught his father’s wide grin as Sam blinked foggily, wrinkling his nose again – this time in distaste at the nasal cannula tucked underneath it.

He blinked slowly, before his eyes began to roam the room, finally focusing on their father.

“You ‘kay?” He slurred quietly, forehead pulling together in apparent concentration.

Dean and their father laughed in synchronisation. Only Sam would come out of anaesthesia, still weak and sick from potentially one of the worst hunting injuries Dean had ever witnessed, and ask if someone else was okay before he was even fully aware of what was happening.

“I’m fine, kid,” Their father answered, and Dean could hear the pride in his voice. “That was a pretty spectacular move, launching yourself at that black dog the way that you did. Perfect shot to the heart with your knife… you saved my life, son.”

“Mmm.” Sam mumbled, smiling a little even as his eyes began to slip shut. He forced them back open a few moments later, apparently determined to stay awake, and Dean leant over to run a hand through the tangled chestnut strands of his hair.

“Go to sleep, Sammy. We’ll be here when you wake up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**part two**

The room was still and silent for a long time, save for the occasional rustling of scrubs on hard plastic chairs and the soft sound of Sam breathing deeply. He’d twisted somewhat awkwardly, his attempts to curl up on his side hindered by the cast on his leg, and Dean couldn’t help but grin a little bit at the sight.

Their father was sipping from Dean’s abandoned cup of coffee, and the young man’s nose wrinkled at the memory of the thick sludge on his tongue. He’d never admit it, but he would’ve killed for a Starbucks.

A nurse broke the silence, smiling at the two of them as she wandered in.

“Just here to take his readings,” She offered quietly, nodding to the tangle of wires coming from the young man. John inclined his head in acceptance and Dean leant forwards in his seat, hand subconsciously tangling with his brother’s as he watched the nurse’s face for reaction. His stomach dropped as he watched the woman’s fingers slip to his brother’s wrist, pressing gently there as she studied the screen intently.

“What is it?” He demanded, ignoring the sharp look his father shot in his direction.

The nurse jumped slightly, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “His temperature’s up to 102.4, and his blood pressure still pretty low considering how much blood we’ve been pumping into him. Could be nothing, but I’d like to get the doctor back in here to check him over as a precautionary measure… At this stage, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Dean had enough experience with hospitals to know that ‘precautionary measures’ were usually nurse speak for, ‘this is really bad but I don’t really want to tell you that.’ His dad’s back stiffened, the man dropping the empty coffee cup distractedly into the trash can as he watched the nurse turn and leave in a decidedly more hurried fashion that she’d arrived.

“Fever means infection.” Dean breathed, eyes locked on his father’s face for some kind of indication that his father was as cool and calm as ever. If John wasn’t worried, there was no reason for Dean to be. One look at his father’s eyes, however, was proof enough that John was more than worried.

“I know, son,” The older man admitted. He seemed to realise, then, that Dean was relying on him for assurance rather than confirmation, and hastily backtracked. “But Sam’s a tough kid. Hell, I’m not sure even I could have done what he did tonight… If anyone can fight this off, he will.”

Dean nodded his head, tried not to hear the words ‘if anyone can survive this, Sam can’ even though he knew they were true.

In the bed, Sam lay still and silent and pale.

***

The doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good.

Dean had been right when he’d guessed that Sam had an infection – an infection of the blood to be exact, and the doctor had left little to the imagination about what might happen if Sam didn’t kick it and fast. He’d swapped the antibiotics that Sam had been receiving for ones that he’d assured were a lot stronger, but Dean couldn’t help but feel a little dubious that such a simple solution would be affective. If they couldn’t get a handle on it, the Sepsis would eventually lead to Sam’s entire body shutting down, his blood pressure dropping until his organs were oxygen-starved and unable to maintain their functions.

Even with the medication, the doctor regretfully admitted that he could make no promises on whether or not Sam’s body would be able to fight off the infection. Shock and blood loss had made him weak, and though Dean reasoned that Sam was a Winchester and therefore a fighter in every sense of the word, he couldn’t help but recall the sensation of blood soaking through a third layer of towel and wondering whether Sam’s body had the resources to win this fight.

Strong though Sam’s will might be, even that wouldn’t be enough if his body failed him.

In the meantime, there was little more than Dean and his father could do but sit and wait, positioned at either side of Sam’s bed like bodyguards. One of the nurses – Mindy or Mandy or some other ‘M’ name that Dean didn’t remember – had taken it upon herself to occasionally drop off two cups of coffee that she’d snuck from the staff lounge.

It still couldn’t hold a candle to some of the coffee Dean had drank in his time, but it was a damn sight better than the vile stuff from the waiting room, and the fear of his eyes slipping shut had him sipping from it gratefully. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Dean would be sleeping before he knew his brother was going to be alright – before he could do so without worrying that Sam’s bed might be cold and empty by the time he opened his eyes again.

In the bed, Sam had gone from worryingly still to restless and back again.

Dean had hated the way that his brother had tossed and turned, scrunching his nose and moaning softly at the no doubt unpleasant sensation of his body doing its best to fight off the threat, and Dean had never thought that he’d miss seeing his brother in such obvious discomfort until he’d fallen silent again.

Distressing though it had been to watch his brother feebly writhe around in his sleep, at least it had been proof that he was still fighting. That he still had some will to live. With his face pale and the machines surrounding him, not so much as the occasional finger twitch to prove that he was still working to overcome the infection, it was that much easier to forget that Sam hadn’t already lost this fight.

***

It wasn’t until a hand on Dean’s shoulder shook him awake that he realised he’d fallen asleep.

It seemed that even the tar-black coffee from the dispenser in the hallway hadn’t been enough to fight off the exhaustion of two sleepless nights, and from the crink in his neck, the hunter figured he’d been sleeping for quite some time.

The shift from sleep to consciousness came as quick as it always had; one touch of an unfamiliar hand just a little too close to his throat and Dean was jerking awake with a start, his body automatically twisting away from the firm grip.

His eyes flew up to take in the smiling face of Sam’s doctor, hands held up in the universal sign for surrender.

“Didn’t mean to startle you there, son,” He said pleasantly, inclining his head towards the bed. “But according to the nurses, you’ve been out of it since the early hours of this morning, and your father figured you’d want to know that Sam’s responding well to the antibiotics.”

Dean blinked dazedly, head still reeling from the unexpected wake-up call and the sudden rush of information. His head swung automatically to his father’s chair, and the man’s wide grin said more for Sam’s condition than anything the doctor had said. For the first time since he’d found the article for the hunt, John looked relaxed. Slouched down in an uncomfortable hospital chair, and wearing a pair of sweatpants that he must have dug out of the duffel now lying at his feet.

“He’s getting better?” He finally found himself asking, eyes dropping to the still-sleeping form of his brother. In the dim, mid-afternoon rays of light drifting into the room between the drawn blinds, Sam looked undoubtedly healthier than he had the night before. He was still too pale for Dean’s liking, the thin skin over his eyelids almost translucent, but the way his nose occasionally twitched was proof that he was sleeping.

“It certainly looks that way,” The doctor confirmed with a wide grin. “His fever’s sitting at just above 100 now, and his heart rate’s a lot more consistent than it has been. His blood pressure’s still pretty low, but we’ve decided against trying another transfusion. His body’s been through a lot, and the last thing we want to do is pump it so full of a stranger’s blood that he goes into shock again. It just means that he’ll have to take it easy when we release him – he’s probably going to be feeling pretty rough for a while, and I’d expect for him to sleep a lot more than normal, but I think I can safely say that we’re out of the danger zone.”

Dean blinked dumbly, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” The doctor nodded. “Your brother’s definitely a fighter.”

The young hunter didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved in his life, and he reached out to gently grip his brother’s hand. The skin there was warm and soft to the touch, a testament to the fact that the treatment was working, and Dean squeezed it lightly.

“There’s my boy,” He muttered to himself, ignoring the sting of tears in his eyes at the realisation that Sam was going to be okay. It was early days and the teenager was far from a hundred-percent, but there was the promise of a full recovery, and that was all that mattered. “You did good, kiddo.”

The doctor continued with a warm smile, “We’ll keep him until this evening, make sure everything’s holding steady and then – barring any complications – he’ll be released and allowed to go back home. Though he will have to come back regularly for his physical therapy.”

Dean nodded eagerly. “Of course. Is there stuff we can help him with at home, too? I know sometimes there’s exercises you can try.”

“All in good time,” The doctor grinned. “He’ll be off his feet for a while yet. Let’s worry about physical therapy when the kid can balance in his crutches, shall we?”

Across the room, John laughed loudly. Dean wondered if it was just him that could hear the relief in the sound; the slightly manic edge to it that spoke of fear and desperation.

***

It was late evening by the time that Sam woke a second time, still as visibly exhausted as he had been the first time, and with tight lines of pain around his eyes.

“Hey,” Dean breathed, face breaking into a wide grin. On the other side of Sam’s bed, their father jerked awake from a reluctant doze, brown eyes instantly seeking out those of his youngest son.

“How you feeling, Sammy?”

Sam frowned a little, head turning on his pillow as he raised one eyebrow.

“F’ntastic,” He croaked, and Dean winced as his voice cracked. “Water?”

John leant forwards, a cup of water with a straw sticking out of the top in his hand. Sam raised an arm to grasp it, wincing as the bruises decorating his arm made themselves known, and settled for wrapping his lips around his straw when John gently nudged it against them.

“Must be feeling better if you’re capable of sarcasm,” The oldest Winchester teased lightly, patiently waiting until Sam had drank his fill before shifting the cup back to the small nightstand. He hesitated for a long moment, finally reaching out to rest a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder and offering him a small smile. “That was quite the scare you gave us there, son.”

Sam ducked his head in apparent embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I must’ve lost my footing when I hit the black dog – I didn’t realise the ravine was so close.”

“Sorry?” Dean demanded incredulously. “Dude, you were a hero out there! You saved Dad’s life!”

Sam shook his head stubbornly. “It was a rookie error.”

“Sam,” John interrupted sternly, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder in a silent order to look at him as he spoke. “You’ve got no reason to apologise - I’d be dead if you hadn’t thrown yourself at the black dog the way that you did. Quite honestly, I’m amazed that you managed to hit the thing straight through the heart. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I’d have made that shot.”

“You’re not mad?” The honest surprise in his son’s voice made John’s heart clench painfully.

What did it say about his ability to raise his sons that one of them was currently lying in a hospital bed paying for John’s mistakes, and his main concern was whether or not John was mad at him?

He was reminded suddenly of himself as a teenager; stubborn and wilful and promising himself that he’d never be the father his dad had been to him, cold and calculating and demanding respect like he’d done something to earn it. Was that what he’d become? The drill-sergeant that had demanded he run laps before breakfast… the man that he’d sworn he hated?

“No, Sam,” He forced out past the lump in his throat. “I’m not mad at you – hell, that couldn’t be further from what I’m feeling right now. I’m proud of you, and more than that… I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t good enough – neither of you.”

Sam’s eyelids were drooping again, exhaustion warring with his obvious determination to keep his eyes open. He looked younger than John remembered, traces of the childhood he’d never been given the opportunity to live in the spark in those hazel eyes and the slight curve of his cheeks. It seemed like just yesterday that Sam had been a toddler with a wide, toothless grin, and it was hard to reconcile that child with the teenager before him.

Somehow, John had blinked and missed the moment that his son had become a man with the scars of a soldier and the determination of someone with something to prove.

At sixteen, John had been angry and hurt and naïve beyond his own comprehension – he hadn’t truly understood the world until two years later, when a stern-faced man in camouflage had placed a gun in his hands and put him on a plane. There was no trace of that innocence in Sam. He was a child of war; a boy who’d been raised with paranoia and precaution his only constants, a handgun tucked into the back of his jeans and dozens of exorcisms on the tip of his tongue.

In many ways, Sam had never been a child.

John wished he knew how to change that.

***

For the next few hours, Sam drifted between consciousness and slumber, Dean keeping a watchful eye over him and feeling a little more of the left-over panic ebb from his veins every time that wide, hazel eyes hazily blinked open once more.

The doctor explained that it was a mixture of factors that left the teenager drifting between coherent and somewhat dazed: his weakened body, the pain meds coursing through his system and the fever. It was, he assured, perfectly normal.

Sam seemed content enough, for his part. There were enough meds in him that Dean doubted the kid even knew that his legs were attached, much less felt the pain from the broken one, and he drifted between light-hearted (and mostly nonsensical, but the effort was there) conversation about TV shows and books, and sleeping peacefully, curled as far onto his side as his outstretched leg would allow.

John had nipped out to the car for long enough to grab them all a change of clothes and another cup of coffee each for himself and Dean, and they’d taken turns to step out and quickly change out of the hospital-issue scrubs. The young hunter had to admit that there was a certain relief into slipping back into well-worn jeans and a soft t-shirt, boots laced up tight because even sitting around in a hospital whilst his brother slept, every instinct in Dean screamed that he had to be alert and ready to defend at a moment’s notice.

He wasn’t going to let anything happen to Sam again.

John, on the other hand, was looking blissfully relaxed. Having obviously forced himself to stay awake so that his eldest son could catch a few hours of sleep earlier, he’d finally dozed off – Dean had to admit that his father made quite the comical picture, slumped back against the hard backed chair with his mouth hanging open and his hand still gripping onto a mostly-empty cup of coffee. He was more than a little tempted to take a picture to show Sam later, but he figured it probably wouldn’t be worth the amount of shit he’d be in if he got caught.

The eldest hunter slept long and hard, silent save for an occasional deep sigh as he shifted somewhat in the uncomfortable chair. Dean’s own ass ached in sympathy, thought at least he’d had the forethought to fold up his leather jacket and settle it underneath him, cushioning the hard plastic at least a little.

By the time he was blinking his eyes open, the glimpses of light peeking through the blinds had faded and a glance at Dean’s watch proved that it was after six in the evening.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Sam still sleeping?” He asked gruffly, wiping irritably at one of his eyes. Dean nodded patiently.

“In and out, same as before. Conversation makes a bit more sense now, though.”

John grinned despite himself. “Nothing more about horses with goat legs, or frogs eating cheese?”

“Sadly not,” Dean replied without hesitation. “Although he had quite a lot to say on the topic of cats wearing slippers.”

John schooled his features into the most serious expression he could muster, nodding as if it was a serious discussion topic that required a lot of thought.

“That’s a new one,” He mused, and then, more seriously, “He seem to be in any pain?”

The younger man. “Nah. High as a kite, but he ain’t hurting.”

As if on cue, the youngest Winchester chose that moment to shift slightly on the bed, forehead scrunching up in apparent distaste as he blinked groggy hazel eyes open. They slipped shut again for a few seconds, giving a good indication of just how groggy the young man still was, before he forced them to stay open. Dean smiled at him, heart lightening a little at the way Sam’s lips automatically curved into a smile of their own in response, as if he was instinctively happy just because Dean was.

“Evening, kiddo,” He winked, watching as Sam’s eyes wandered away from his face and landed on the glass of water on the nightstand. Dean offered it to him without hesitation, angling the straw to make it easy for the kid to drink from it and waited patiently as Sam took slow, measured sips. It was a testament to how often the kid had to battle injury and sickness that he had the art of drinking without throwing up down to a fine art. “Sleep well?”

“Hmm,” Sam agreed quietly, seeming at least a little more awake than he had before. “When can I go home?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Probably not long, now. They said it’d be sometime this evening.”

“How are you feeling?” John queried, dragging his chair closer and leaning over the edge of the bed to get a better look at his youngest son’s face.

“Okay,” Sam smiled, and then wrinkled his nose a little. “Although, from the fuzzy feeling in my head I get the impression that I’ve probably embarrassed myself quite a bit. What did they give me?”

Dean grinned conspiratorially. “The good stuff. As for embarrassing yourself, well… I promise not to hold it over you for all eternity. Maybe.”

Sam rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to reply only to cut off by the sound of the room’s door swinging open. Dean glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the doctor’s face visibly light up when he took in the sight of Sam awake and talking, and couldn’t stop his own grin from growing wider.

“Nice to see you awake, Sam,” The man greeted happily. “Any pain in your leg?”

Sam shook his head. “Can’t even feel it.”

“Well, that sounds good to me. I was just swinging by to tell your brother and father, here, that I’ve signed the release papers and you’re good to go as soon as you’re comfortably awake… it seems you’ve beaten me to the punch.”

“I can go home?”

The doctor nodded. “Certainly can. I’ll run through some basic PT stuff with you before you leave, but most of its pretty straight forward – at this point, I’m suggesting that there’s no weight-bearing at all on the injured leg for at least six weeks, at which point we’ll re-evaluate. That means that crutches are necessary for even the shortest trips across the room… factoring in the bruises on your arm, I’m almost tempted to recommend a wheelchair for practicality.”

Dean blinked a little, because he’d broken his leg before. He’d had the warnings about not using it excessively and doing his best to use the crutches, and whilst he’d known that Sam’s break was a lot worse, he hadn’t figured it was this bad.

Sam shook his head stubbornly. “No wheelchair. I’ll manage with the crutches, I promise.”

The doctor (Sullivan, his nametag read, and Dean really needed to start paying more attention when people introduced themselves) frowned a little, nodding almost reluctantly. Dean was more than a little glad that he’d given in so easily – the high, tight set of Sam’s shoulders was proof that the kid wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.

“Hospital policy says you’ll have to let them escort you out in a chair,” He reasoned. “But after that, you’re welcome to stick to the crutches. As long as I can trust you to stay off the leg.”

“Believe me,” Sam snorted, casting a wry glance towards his father. “I’m not gonna do anything to mess up the healing with my leg. I kind of like it in full working order.”

Doctor Sullivan laughed. “In that case, let’s run through a few things so we can see about getting you released, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

**part three**

Dean watched quietly as Sam slowly, and by the looks of things incredibly painfully, hopped his way across the motel room. The elder boy wished that he could have convinced the young hunter to take the doctor up on the offer of a wheelchair, but had to concede that it probably wouldn’t have been particularly practical – most hotel rooms weren’t exactly set up with manoeuvrability in mind, and this one was no exception.

Sam had been fighting the crutches since the car, shifting his grip every few seconds to try a find a more comfortable position for them, and more than once he’d wobbled in a way that promised an immediate fall. Much to Dean’s displeasure, he’d – quite literally - shrugged off all offers of help, determined to make it all the way to his bed by himself.

Taking in the sheen of sweat on his face, Dean once more reached out to grab the younger man’s elbow and insist that he stop being so stubborn and just let Dean carry him to his bed, goddamn it. A hand on his elbow stopped him, and Dean glanced up in surprise to find his father shaking his head minutely, eyes locking together for a few moments before both of them turned to check on Sam. He’d managed another two steps.

“Let him do this for himself.” John muttered quietly, slinging his duffel bag down on the couch with a resounding thud. Dean wondered, absently, how many weapons were tangled in among his father’s clothes for it to make such a heavy sound.

Reluctantly, Dean admitted defeat with a nod and crossed to dump his duffel on the bed closest to the motel room door. He winced a little when he realised that the same force of habit that had caused him to pick that bed in the first place would also mean a longer journey for Sam, but the damage was done – if he suddenly changed his mind now, there’d be no way for either of them to save face.

Instead, he forced himself to unzip the duffel and start rooting through it for some sweatpants and a shirt to sleep in – it might still be early, but he was running on next to no sleep and he had every intention of hitting the hay just as soon as Sam had his meds in him and his eyes closed. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

A slight clatter had him spinning around, reacting just quickly enough to stretch out an arm and grab Sam around the waist as his crutches caught on a bump in the carpet and – incapable of correcting the mistake – his body toppled sideways.

“Whoa,” He breathed, helping the kid steady himself. He was barely a step away from the bed, and all it took was a glance at his pale face and heaving chest for Dean to decide that crutches were out of the question. It took a lot less effort than he’d like to use the arm around the kid’s waist to pick him up and spin him, gently lowering him onto the edge of the motel bed. “Easy there, tiger.”

The fact that Sam didn’t complain said a lot about how far he’d pushed himself.

Dean didn’t mention the faint tremor in the teenager’s limbs or the rapid heartbeat he’d felt briefly when his shoulder had pressed against his brother’s chest; instead, he got to work on ridding the younger man of the one boot that Sam had stubbornly insisted on lacing up properly and the hoodie that they’d forced him to wear.

Sam let himself be gently poked and prodded until he was ready for bed, and Dean glanced up in surprise when his father’s hands suddenly appeared and carefully pulled back the covers, timing it just perfectly with his eldest son to get the young boy under the covers without jolting his leg. A bottle of water and the latest dose of Sam’s pain pills and antibiotics had miraculously appeared on the nightstand, and Dean quietly coerced the young man into taking them.

Sam was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

***

When Sam woke up, he was warm and comfortable, his leg throbbing uncomfortably in a reminder of the hunt gone wrong. He’d attempted to twist on his side during the night, the same way he’d always slept, but the weight of the plaster cast on his leg made the position more than a little uncomfortable. Scowling, Sam rolled onto his back, biting back a yelp when the sudden movement shot waves of pain through the injured limb.

He was really missing his morphine pump, that was for sure.

Strangely, though, there was something almost soothing about cool, unfamiliar sheets and uncomfortably soft motel pillows. Sam kept his eyes stubbornly closed, doing his best to cling to the last vestiges of peaceful sleep, but he was fighting a losing battle. Fidgeting was waking him up further, but there was no way to find a comfortable position without abandoning sleep altogether. He sighed again.

Seconds later, a second bolt of pain slammed through his leg when a weight dipped the bed on the side closest to the door and Sam twisted sharply to see what the hell was going on.

Dean, for his part, didn’t say a word. Instead, he gently bullied Sam back into his usual position on his side and muttered a sharp order for him to stay put whilst he fussed with something. It took Sam longer than it should have to register that Dean was propping his own foot up on a pillow, and he wondered absently whether he’d been the only one injured on the hunt.

Comprehension didn’t dawn on him until he felt his brother reach down and gently move his injured foot so that it was resting on his own, the perfect height for Sam to rest comfortably in the position he’d slept in since he was a child.

Sam didn’t think he’d ever felt more grateful for his big brother.

“Th’nks,” He acknowledged blearily, eyes already shut again. He felt his brother shrug.

“Don’t get used to it, bitch.”

***

Morning brought an uncomfortable feeling in his bladder and a sharp agony in his leg that told him he was probably overdue for his meds. Or at least, he hoped he was.

Twisting his body a little, Sam could just about make out the red numbers on the alarm clock proudly declaring that it was just after ten AM, leaving Sam four hours past the point where his pain relief had run out. Twisting even further revealed that he wasn’t the only one still sleeping.

Both his father and brother were still sound asleep, Dean’s face tucked into the back of the youngest Winchester’s neck and his father’s head tipped back over the arm of the couch, occasionally letting out a bitten-off snore. Ordinarily, Sam would have let them sleep, but the need to use the bathroom was becoming increasingly more urgent, and the pain in his leg was making his stomach roll nauseatingly.

Reluctantly, Sam nudged his elbow back into his brother’s side, aiming for the soft flesh over ribs where the blow would be just enough to wake him without causing any pain. He’d had a hell of a lot of practice in that area.

Dean jerked awake instantly, body going from loose and relaxed to tense and prepared for anything within seconds, and Sam knew the exact moment that his brother’s eyes fell on the alarm clock by the long stream of obscenities that followed.

“Holy crap, Sammy,” He admonished loudly, sliding out of the bed and fumbling for something on the nightstand. From the clatter that followed, Sam figured it was probably his meds. “You should have said something.”

Sam fought off the urge to roll onto his back and look at his brother as they spoke, knowing first hand that any movement right now was just going to exasperate the sensations in his leg.

“Just woke up.” He offered, wincing a little at the tremor in his own voice. The pain in his leg spiked and he closed his eyes for a long moment, doing his best to will the pain away; by the time his eyes opened, Dean was crouched in front of him with a handful of pills and a glass of water, straw peeking innocuously out of the top.

“Can you sit up?”

Sam shook his head. “I think that would be a very bad idea right now. I can take them lying down, its fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Dean sighed, releasing the medication to him with a sceptical frown. Sam forced the paper-dry medication into his mouth and reached for the glass, not at all surprised when his brother kept a tight grip on it and just let Sam hold the straw. To be honest, it was probably a good plan – even Sam wasn’t sure that he could’ve held onto it without spilling water everywhere. He waited until Sam drank his fill before carefully setting it on the floor, shoulders slumping with apparent relief as he reached over and gently squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “Dude, I suck. I’m so sorry, I should’ve set an alarm on my phone-“

“Not your fault,” The young hunter defended stubbornly. “You were exhausted. I’m glad you got a decent night’s rest for a change.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass? Do you need the bathroom? Want help?”

“Kinda do,” Sam admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere for as long as these painkillers take to kick in. Thank god for the wonders of modern medicine.”

Dean tipped his head in acknowledgement.

“I’ve thought the same thing many a time,” John’s voice intoned from behind Sam’s back. The teenager jumped, relieved when the paint that shot through his leg at the movement wasn’t quite as intense as before. It was a few seconds before he could gather the courage to tip himself onto his back, and his stomach churned sickeningly as the plaster on his leg fell off the pillow and onto the mattress, where it bounced once. Dean scowled, reaching forward to pick it up but Sam waved him off.

“It’s cool,” He grinned. “The meds are starting to kick in now, anyways. I’m pretty sure I can make the bathroom now, at least. That's if you're not too busy fussing to take me, of course.”

Dean frowned petulantly, ignoring their father’s amused grin. “I’m not fussing.”

“You’re totally fussing! You always fuss. You’re like a… soccer mom or something.”

“Dude, seriously?” The older man groused. “I wake up with a dead leg from being an awesome brother and keeping your leg steady all night, and you go and take the piss out of me after ten minutes of consciousness? Totally not cool.”

Sam shrugged, grinning cheekily. “Life’s a bitch. You gonna help me or what?”

Dean was at his side in seconds, already started to gently herd Sam to his feet and the knowing glance that the youngest Winchester sent his father was enough to have John Winchester laughing long and loud. Dean swore lightly under his breath, but he was grinning widely despite his pink cheeks. “Little bitch. Here, take your crutches.”

He shoved the offending items in his brother’s direction, and it wasn’t until Sam grabbed a hold of them that he noticed the difference. Where they had previously dug into the bruises decorating his injured arm, they were now padded with what looked like gauze and bandages; it was easily ten times more comfortable than it had been before, and Sam’s look of surprise was enough to send John into a second fit of laughter.

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean ducked his head.

“It looked painful!” He defended. “And I didn’t want to have to carry your sorry ass around anymore, that’s all!”

Sam shook his head, smiling fondly. “You’re never going to complain about having to carry my sorry ass around, you big jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean fired back without any hesitation. “Now are you going to go the bathroom, or are we going to stand around exchanging pleasantries like a group of girls?”

Sam ducked his head to hide his grin as he made his way across the room. It was easier to balance than it had been the day before, his body slightly more responsive to his brain’s commands, but the pace was still slow and the movement left his muscles burning.

When he felt his brother’s hand press against his back just over halfway there, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he focused on the sound of his father’s laughter and the warm, reassuring presence just behind his shoulder that was his big brother.

His muscles were weak and his arms were shaking, but Sam wasn’t worried. If he fell, Dean would catch him before he hit the floor, and he’d do it with a sarcastic remark and a gentle squeeze of the younger man’s shoulder.

That was just how things worked.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt by merrymack over on livejournal for one of the OhSam fic challenges. 
> 
> Prompt was: Sam, broken leg (knee injury...really any leg injury will do), preseries, crutches, worried Dean and John. Pointless fluff and pain.


End file.
